The Warriors Lost
by Lord of the Saiyans
Summary: The Lost Warriors Chapter were never normal, even for a none-Codex Chapter,they pushed the limit; The Inquisition weren't the only one to notice this. A servant of the Change God plans to currupt them, now they must fight to remain pure, never mind surve
1. Chapter 1

The Setii system buried deep within Imperial space was home to seven orbiting planets. Of the seven daughters of Setii, three were inhabited. Setii I, a lush, jungle planet where the cries of animals resounded, and the great green tress stretched forever into the sky. Where the air was ever filled with clouds of biting, stinging insects, and where one never had to look far, to discover life. Setii II, a frozen wasteland of a world, originally colonized in order to mine it for the rare metals hiding deep beneath the surface, now cities dotted it here and there, for the wealth of Setii II had drawn many to those icy, desolate plains. Finally, there was Setii III, the first of the worlds to be colonized. Here, great spires and buildings rose into the sky, and the Hivecities belched their pollution into the once abundant forests, lakes and rivers of Setii III. That is not to say, however, that there was no life anywhere else in the system. For though only three planets were colonized, life existed elsewhere.

On the fourth planet of the system – a harsh, desert world with no natural resources that had not been extracted centuries ago – there was life of a kind.

The desert world of Haruma had once been just as vibrant as it's sisters, before the change, as it's oceans dried up and it's landmass became nothing but hot, blasted sands. When the Imperium had found it, they mined it until Haruma held nothing more of value, then left it to it's eternal heat. For centuries, Haruma had been a place of death for the citizens of the system. But there were buildings, constructed during the height of the mining. Strange, skeletal cities, half-born, now little more than sand blew through their deserted streets. Nothing lived on Haruma now. Or so, the Imperium thought.

A figure stood, looking out into the dead wastes of Haruma. He was tall, almost freakishly big and muscular. His head was bald of hair, and it shone in the dying light of the crimson sunset. He was clothed in loose fabric. Made to keep him as cool as possible in the heat of the desert, but even he was feeling the touch of the sun. As he looked into the red light, he thought. He thought about all that he had been through, all he had sacrificed. It had been a long and often difficult road to where he stood now. He had paid in blood, sweat and tears, but he didn't complain – not then and not now. What path was worth walking if the way as too easy? No, he would continue on his chosen route. Take anything that it could throw at him, and laugh it off, that was just how he was. But he could see that his own path was at last drawing to a close, the final plays were being made even now, the last few pieces moving into place.

He felt pride bubbling up inside him even as he reviewed his plan. It was perfect, flawless, a thousand years in the making; it allowed for no mistakes, no slip-ups. If everything went as he predicted – and it would – it would all come off without a hitch. If there was even one tiny mistake, the entire thing could blow up in their faces. Hence his own presence on this out of the way planet. He would allow no mistakes, no incompetence would hold them back, not this time. That left only a few true variables, and the biggest of them was a simple one, yet upon that one hinged the success or failure of their plan. Would they come?

If they did indeed come here, to his dry planet, then everything would be in order and the plan could proceed. If they didn't, well, they had a back-up plan.

Yes, thought the massive man as he bathed in the dying rays of the sun, things were working out exactly as he had foreseen. How could it be otherwise? He smirked, as the light faded and darkness rolled in to take it's place. They would come, then, they would die.

There was no one around him – the rest of the cult were busy setting up the complex controls that they would need to find the ancient artefact that had drawn them here.

" For the Emperor." He said sardonically, his eye alight with a dark fire.

__

At the same time, half-way across the galaxy, a powerful ship sped through the dark void of space. Star-light glittered against it's hull, revealing a battered, dented armour. Several gaping wounds had been torn recently, but they were already starting to close as the serfs tried to patch the strike-cruiser together again.

The _Emperor's Blade _had been in the Chapter for as long as anyone could remember. Painted in the bright red and golds and silvers of the Lost Warriors Chapter, it had seen more action than most of the marines themselves. Chapter Master Draks himself had once said that the ship was older than him. The _Blade _ was truly an ancient ship, and it was a good one. Technology long since lost to humanity lived on in this champion of a bygone era. While it may have been wounded in it's last battle, it was also victorious. The 3rd Company had totally crushed the heretics, though they had taken losses.

Space Marine Chaplain Illu looked out over the assembled heads of his brother-marines. They were in strict formation, bowed in prayer to the Emperor. They wore their armour as tradition demanded and it caught and reflected the light. He was leading them, his voice strong and sure, reminding them of their duty to the Emperor, and to humanity. He told them again of how their Chapter had come to be founded, of how they had gotten their unique name. He reminded them of why it was their duty to watch over every single Imperial citizen. It was the duty handed down to them by their Chapter Masters, it was what had brought them together in the first place.

An entire Chapter devoted to making the lives of all the citizens of the Imperium just a little bit better. He knew in his heart with a fierce pride that no other Chapter could claim to be so devoted. Oh, the Ultramarines were good, he would give them that. They did their best to help people, but even to them the mission would always come first. To the Lost Warriors, there was no more important mission than the safety of the Imperium's billions of lives. That was what made them different, that was what made then unique.

It also, ironically enough, brought them to the attentions of the Inquisition multiple times. As the prayer continued, Illu noted that his body seemed to have finished healing. During the last savage battle, the Lost Warriors had been forced to board the Chaos battleship, there they had encountered there very opposites, creatures who's existence mocked them, degenerate monsters, mockeries of what they once had been. Chaos Marines. Illu had killed their leader himself, his blessed arcanum smashing apart tainted armour and ploughing through dark corrupted flesh and sending the twisted soul of the abomination to met his dark Gods. Illu prayed they welcomed him as they welcomed the people he had killed in their name. He had been wounded in the fight, and had only now recovered. As the only Chaplain on hand that had survived the boarding, he found himself leading his brothers thus.

Soon, they had finished their opening prayers, his steady voice guiding them, laden with experience. Now the room fell silent, row upon row of brother-marines looking up at him, he could feel their gaze through his skull-like helmet. He was aware that he did not exactly fit the standard image of a Chaplain. His armour was not the customary black that signified the Chaplain's position, rather it was red. A single shoulder-pad had been coloured gold to show his veteran status. His plasma-pistol was holstered at his side – for what Astartes would ever go unarmed? And his blessed arcanum was as ever by his side.

His voice rang out clear and loud through the hushed silence that had descended upon the temple.

" Brothers, we have fought a pitched battle." He said, speaking solemnly, " It was hard, the traitors were loath to relinquish even the smallest gain, we paid in blood for every footstep. But in the end, the Emperor's light triumphed as we knew it would."

His steady gaze swept the floor, noting the wounds on his brothers, some of them looked like they should be recovering still, but they had come here. He felt the warm pride beating in his twin hearts. These were his brothers, brothers in arms and brothers in soul.

" I was proud," he continued. " To fight beside you all. The Emperor was with us this day, and the traitors cast down!" He raised his arms, " beaten against the rocks, and thrown to the Emperor's mercy. As we all know, He has no mercy for traitors."

Illu felt a sadness well up within him as he he thought of all those who had fallen in the battle. This fight had taken a very heavy toll on the company, some of the Emperor's best and brightest had been cut down in a frenzy of blood and death. Illu knew very well that this was the lot of the Adeptus Astartes-- they had been designed to fight, to be the ultimate warriors. It was hardly surprising that they died in battle. Still, to have so many commanders and captains cut down – it almost seemed that the traitors had been trying to kill the leaders. If they had, it hadn't worked. Illu could still recall their flagship – gross and mutated, living flesh infused into the metal walls, daemons merged into the controls – burning as fire from the strike-cruiser tore into it's side. The loyalist marines having done as much damage as they could and escaped. Yes they had done the Emperor's work. Illu knew that the galaxy was now a much safer place.

He put his emotions into his work, channelling them into the speech as he continued: " But there is no victory without a price. No war without losses. Many brave men laid down their lives to bring His justice down on the traitors. Their sacrifice was for the good of all. We should glory in their demise, for it means they now walk with the fallen, and we shall meet them again in the final battle. Yet, that does not mean we should not mourn their loss. We would be less than the scum we fight, if the deaths of our brothers meant so little. No, I trust that I am not alone in saying that I am proud to be the brother of these men."

He bowed his head, knowing that the others would do the same. This was a timeless ritual of the Chapter. It had been conducted since their founding, and Illu would not allow the fallen to be dishonoured by not conducting it as soon as he was able.

Slowly, he spoke the names of the fallen. Syllables intoned with a almost religious faith. He had no list of the dead – he didn't need one. It was shocking just how many men he had known that had died on the Chaos-corrupted ship. Illu knew that they had fallen serving the Emperor. He was grateful that they had done their duty to the end – he had not been lying when he said he was proud to be their brother.

Having spoken the last of the names, he raised his head, " Thus do we send them on their final trip. They are with the Emperor now, forever to stand in defence of mankind. Just as they have given their lives for the good of all, I know that each and everyone gathered here will do the same when their time comes. That this time will come is something we all know. We are Astartes! We do not die of old age, we do not get sick. Not for us, the deathbed of silk and finery. No, we die in a blaze of glory. Death in battle, that is our way. It will come for us all, one day even I shall fall in the fight. But until then, brothers, let us pray."

This said, he lead them in the final prayer for the day and ended the sermon. His brothers stood and left, ready to go about their duties.

Illu stepped down, the servos in his armour whined, but he didn't notice – he was used to it. As he looked across the rapidly emptying room, he saw that one marine was still kneeling, still praying.

Illu recognised him as Brother Tye – a Veteran Sergeant who had been in the Chapter longer than Illu himself. Tye was something of an anomaly. His golden shoulder-pad gleamed in the light, and he didn't look up -- though doubtless his auto-senses alerted him to Illu's approach. Illu wondered what to say. Of all the Sergeants who's squads had taken losses, Tye was by far the worst off. His entire squad had been caught in an ambush with only the marine himself surviving. Illu remembered Tye as a good-natured man who valued the safety of his squad above most else, the grief was showing even through his armoured form.

" I failed them." Tye said simply, without turning his head or otherwise acknowledging the Chaplain's presence. " They trusted me to lead them and I failed. Their deaths are on my hands."

Illu silently nodded to himself. Yes, he had seen this kind of thing before. When an authority figure survived a alone or with only a few of the people he had lead, he started to question whether it was his fault, should he have been faster? Smarter? Could he have saved the day? It was a mental condition that affected many Space Marines.

Normal people assumed that the Adeptus Astartes were somehow immune to the wide verity of mental conditions that were caused by a life-time of combat. The truth was of course slightly different – it was true that the Astartes was not as vulnerable to such things as, say an Imperial Guardsmen but that was not to say they were immune to it all together. That was why it was a duty of the Chaplains to ensure the health of their brothers – spiritually, psychically and mentally. Most marines would be be able to open up far more easily to a Chaplain than anyone else. Illu had dealt with this kind of thing before.

" You feel." He said slowly, " Inadequate, that their death was your fault. Surely you should have seen it coming, the ambush had to have some signs, some small clue that would have warned you away. As sergeant, your duty was to warn them and by failing that – and then, failing to lead them clear of the battle – you doomed them."

Tye seemed to shrink, then he turned slowly. Illu was struck by how graceful his brother-marine was. Tye was not like any other marine Illu had ever met. His form was compact and muscular, small for a marine, he made up for his size with his strange fighting style. He struck like a ghost, when fighting with his power-sword, he made rapid blows before fading away. Making a mockery of an opponent's attempts to hit him. He specialized in quick movements, and was at his best in the centre of the battle. Illu recalled the few times that the Chapter had fought as one, Tye and his squad had been one of the few able to keep up with the 1st Company as they rampaged through the Chaotic instillation. It was rumoured that the Gene-seed implanted in the sergeant had been subject to a minor mutation. And, Illu had to admit that it would fit with the way his brother's body seemed optimised for speed rather than a sustained assault.

" I can tell you right now." Said Illu without changing his tone, " That what you are thinking is false. You did not fail – there is no shame in being outmatched, only if you let it consume you, do you give into dishonour. I know what it was like – I was there as well, brother. Chaos touch is corrosive not only to the soul. The entire ship was against us. Everything from the Machine Spirit to the floor we stood on would have killed us if it could. Is it any surprise, in that case, that we were ambushed so easily? Any signs were hidden, any clues obscured. It was not your fault that you fell into that trap."

Tye didn't seem consoled by Illu's reasoning, " Even if that is the case, Chaplain, what about during the attack itself? I led them to their deaths!"

" Can you think of anything that you could have done – with the resources you had at your disposal at the time that could have saved them? Sergeant, I know what happened. A single squad of Astartes cut of from the rest of the assault and assailed by heretics, traitors and worse. It was a testament to the skill you drilled into them that they lasted so long, and only by your experience did you yourself survive long enough for us to find you."

" We failed." Said Tye miserably, " We were cut off and destroyed, we failed. As the sergeant, I should have done better, I should have been able to save us."

Illu looked down at the man, he could not say that he had known Tye personally. They had talked but they were not truly friends. Illu was a Chaplain, and though his duty was to safe-guard his flock, his destiny was always to be removed from it. The others must always see him as something else, as an avatar of the Emperor and the Primarch, not as a man just like any other. Only then would be inspire the faith that was needed, the total trust of the Chapter. Still, he knew what to say.

" You didn't fail."

Tye looked up at him, gazing at his skull-like helmet, " What?"

Illu spoke with absolute confidence, as he knew that every word was correct and true. " The duty of the Astartes is to protect the Imperium. We were created to fight against all odds no matter how overwhelming. In this, your squad did not fail. Wave after wave of enemies rushed into them, firing bolter, or lasgun or worse. They did not break, not even as they died, one by one. Not a single member of that squad dishonoured themselves. They brought death to many of those who attacked them, and in the end, when they died, it was surrounded by a pile of bodies. The twisted forms of the traitors bleeding at their feet. The did their duty to the end, sergeant, I say you should be proud of them. They died with glory, they did not halt, did not stumble. For every wound they took, they gave back threefold. The duty of an Astartes is to fight the impossible – and a Lost Warrior especially must strive to overcome all odds. In this, your men succeeded. Tell me, sergeant, what would you have done had we not come to save you?"

Tye answer was immediate, coming from instinct rather than thought. -- a sergeant who had to think about that question wasn't worthy to be a Lost Warrior at all.

" I would have died with them, I would have killed until I had nothing left in my bolter and my power-sword was shattered. Then I would have fought on with my bare hands."

Illu nodded, clearly showing approval so that Tye could see. " In that case, sergeant, I submit that your men did not fail, and nether did you. You did what was expected, and even when the end looked to be in sight, you did not run. Your men died, but you will see them again. In the final battle, when all of the pure wage war on the forces of Chaos, you will see them. What will you tell them, sergeant? That you went on to lead a glorious career as an Astartes, fighting the Emperor's enemies on a thousand worlds before selling your life dearly to the Ruinous Powers. Or that you gave up, and ended your life a pathetic wreck of a broken man. Not worthy to bear the name Astartes. Chose well sergeant. Because these are your only options.

Tye, who had listened to Illu intently stood up. Somewhat unsteadily, " I..I will have to think about this. Thank you, Chaplain."

That done, he exited the temple without a backwards glance, his foot-steps echoed as Illu watched him go. Tye was a legend in the Chapter, the only man ever to turn down a place in the illustrious 1st Company. Illu hoped that he would pull himself together – Chapter Master Draks had grand plans for Tye. If only the marine knew. Illu suspected that Draks was grooming Tye as a replacement.

" That was quite was a speech." Came a voice from behind him.

Illu had to resist the urge to spin around, whipping out his plasma-pistol. Judging by the way they had been able to sneak up on him and the voice, there was only one person that would ever talk to him like that. Sure enough, turning around he found himself facing the hulking form of Librarian Iranos.

Iranos was that most rare of things in Illu's book. A friend and brother who would fight with him to the end. Illu vaguely recalled that they had come from the same planet prior to their training and even known each other before joining the Chapter. Really in that case, it was no surprise that they had become friends during their training. Even after so many years, that friendship had never dimmed. Illu nodded, " I must say that I expected something along those lines from him. The very fact that he lost his entire squad. Not something a man likes to face on his own."

Illu noted that Iranos had come wearing Terminator armour – the Librarian had been gifted the sacred armour after saving the life of Chapter Master Draks on some snowball of a world. It had been decorated differently than the 1st Company. The massive form of the Librarian seemed to take up more space than anyone else Illu had ever seen.

" Terrible." Agreed Iranos, " I hear they were one of our better squads?"

" The Chapter Master compared them to the 1st Company." Confirmed Illu, " he will not be happy to hear of their loss."

Iranos nodded sadly, " We are too few of good men lately."

Illu reflected that it was true. The 1st Company had suffered truly hideous losses against a force of what the Inquisition termed ''Necrons'' that set themselves up on the planet of Duos. Battling traitors and worse, the Terminator armoured warriors had to fight their way through the tunnels to the planet's core itself. In the meantime, more than half of the Chapter was engaged in a bitter struggle to keep the Chaos Marines off their backs. It had been a bloody day. Illu knew. His own shoulder had been stripped almost to the bone, and he would have died there and then had Iranos not stepped in the way.

" It is the way of war." Said the Chaplain philosophically, " It is what we are made for. Now, was there a reason you came to find me or did you just find my sermon so riveting you had to congratulate me on my speech-making?"

" Ha." Snorted Iranos, " What you call speech-making, the rest of us call psychological warfare. But you do have a point. I came here to find you because we have received a new message from the Chapter Master. According to the Astropath, the system of Setii has need of our aid.

Illu raised an eyebrow behind his armoured helmet, " Oh? And why are you telling me this? Wouldn't such an order fall to Brother-Captain Dunasis? He was the one put in charge of this mission, I believe."

Iranos nodded, " Since you are the last Chaplain alive, he seeks your permission to go. He believes that we may face a moral threat."

Ah, that would do it. Dunasis was wondering if a single Chaplain would be up to the task of facing whatever they found on Setii. Iranos continued, outlining the situation as far as they could tell.

" It appears that a Chaos-Cult has taken root on one of the nearby planets. It is a wasteland, and would be easily taken care of by the PDF or the Imperial Guard. Save for two things. Firstly, there are rumours of Chaos Marines, secondly, the few scouts that were sent to the planet report back that the leader of the cultists is searching for a relic of some kind. Apparently, the crest on it matches the Chapter's.

Illu felt a sudden dizziness as he realized what this meant. " You mean, we've found _it?_"

Iranos shrugged, " It appears so, though of course there is always room for error. The Chapter Master says we are the closest to the system, and we should have more than enough Astartes to crush the cultists. Even allowing for the losses we have taken so far."

" He trusts us to recover the relic?" Asked Illu. If this was true, it would be.. it would be one of the finest moments in the history of the Chapter. Illu ewould expect a mission of such import to draw the attention of the 1st Company, not them! And yet, they were being tasked with this. He felt a sudden urge not to let Draks down.

" Forget that question. He would not have asked us if he didn't trust us. Tell the brother-Captain that I am in full agreement that we go."

Iranos nodded, a grin slowly spreading over his features, " Then, we go, Chaplain?"

Illu nodded, " We go, Librarian, and Emperor help anyone who stands in our way."

__

Night-time on Haruma was a freezing. Temperatures had been known to fall beyond survivable for a human. Even a Space Marine would have had difficulty surviving on his own here.

Luckily, Maraco was not just a Space Marine, not any more at any rate. Chaos, in all it's glory had come over him. He could still remember what it had been like to serve the Corpse-Emperor, foolish, honour-bound, _weak_. Those days were long over, he knew. His body had known the touch of Chaos and now, now he would never be cold again.

He grinned, showing rows of teeth. They were able to puncture flesh and bone, he knew because he had tried. Yes, the Imperium was weak. Once it had been great – Maraco was forced to admit that. During the whole Great Crusade, it could have become something worth while. But that time was over and done, the Imperium was nothing but a shrivelled shadow of it's former self, struggling to hold onto power, even as it saw it's demise coming closer and closer.

It would be Chaos, Maraco knew, Chaos would ultimately consume the Imperium. Only the will of the Emperor held them back, and he of all people knew that not even the Emperor would last forever. Upon that fateful day, when the gates were opened, all of Chaos would pour through. It would be the finest Black Crusade yet seen. It would be the final one, for what but the Imperium could stand against Chaos?

Yes, Maraco looked forwards to that day. But he also knew that he could not just sit by and wait – he would have to earn the right to be there. To this extent, he worked towards the fall of the false-Emperor. He knew that his brothers did the same, even the Astartes were not immune. More and more were seeing the truth – that the Imperium was a lie, and that Chaos was the only true path for those who sought power.

He looked to the sky. Naturally, there was virtually no light-pollution on Haruma. With his enhanced senses, he could pick out every star, every light, a comet trailed through the sky, burning brightly but it would soon be no more. That was the Imperium, he thought. It burned brightly now, but soon it would exhaust itself, and then Chaos in all it's glory would move in. Like a great freezing tide, they would crush anything left.

Why where they here? He wondered. Why on this forsaken little system? It was a waste, in his opinion. They were searching for some kind of relic, and that was all that Lord Yurus said. Wouldn't this job be better accomplished by the cultists that were already here? Didn't they already have perfectly faithful humans to do the work for them. No reason to call in the Chaos Marines. Yet, Yurus had done just that. It made no sense, at all. And all the blood-shed that they were missing? Maraco longed to feel the kick of the bolter as it ripped through flesh, to cleave through the skin of an enemy. It was unnatural, he felt, to be away from the killing for so long. Yet Yurus had been very clear. There was to be no leaving the planet, and no killing of the cultists. They were needed for the next stage in his plan.

Maraco longed to kill again, but he was not foolish enough to defy Yurus. Yurus was blessed of Chaos. A warrior allied to the God of Change. His plans were legion, and very complex. It was he that had put together their small warband, he that had led them to this remote planet. If Maraco was inclined to trust anyone in this universe, it would be Yurus.

He laughed to himself. _Trust_. It was a weak emotion, and it had seen the death of billions over the countless centuries. The first thing a Chaos Marine learned was to disregard trust. Former alliances and friendships meant nothing.

Well, he found himself grinning, the fools would be here soon enough, and then there would be killing aplenty.

__

A little one-shot I threw together. Mostly to make sure I could do proper Space Marine characters and not just cardboard cut-outs. Review if you liked it, if you didn't review and tell me way.


	2. Musings of a Chaplain

The old bay was filled with the bustle of war. Orders were called out, as the doors to the first silent row of crimson drop-pods opened. The sound of marching feet was heard as the first wave boarded the pods. Illu looked around the ship one last time, as he always did before a battle. He was taking in all the people around him, and the ship itself. A single last memory, for he knew that some of them would not return alive.

Brother-Captain Dunasis had formulated a simple plan. The Chaos cult was confined to one ''city'' as far as they knew. These ''cities'' had been constructed centuries beforehand, they were little more than collections of crumbling buildings. They would offer some cover however. The plan called for them to drop down upon the cult from above. To attack first and savage them before they could get their act together to counter it. This was a plan Illu approved of, it would decrease causalities to themselves while maximising those of the enemy. Unfortunately, they could not just bombard the site from orbit, as they would need to recover the ancient artefact of the Chapter. long thought lost, to have it turn up here was unfortunate -- and the fact that it was in the traitor's hands -- or would soon be if they didn't get it first. That was almost a heresy in itself!

With that last look done, Illu stepped into the drop-pod. It was a tradition of the Chapter that the Librarian trainees would be led into battle by an aged Librarian. It was thus that Illu found himself in the drop-pod along with four novices and one Iranos. The big man grinned -- he didn't wear a helmet. Nodding to Illu. Illu nodded back fractionally -- very aware of his image in front of the new marines.

With a hiss and a whine, the doors closed, air was pumped into the pod as they prepared to drop. Illu had done this a million times before, and as a Space Marine, he was immune to fear. Yet, he could never help but feel a low-grade nervousness. The very idea of being plunged through the skies with nothing to defend himself with was against his very nature.

The pod shook, the floor under it was being opened to the void -- air rushed outwards along with all the warmth. Inside the pod, they couldn't hear the _whoosh _ of escaping atmosphere, but Illu knew it just the same. Then, they dropped. It was nothing at first, just the slightest of sensations, but it would change once they hit planet-fall. For now, however, their ride was somewhat peaceful.

" Brace yourselves." Iranos warned his squad, " I trust you have all checked your weapons? Too late now if you haven't, just don't come crying to me if some cultist rapes your entrails because you didn't have a bolter ready."

Illu had to smile at Iranos' colourful wording. His own plasma pistol was ready -- checking it before a battle had long since ceased to require any real thought from him. It was like breathing, just something that happened.

Was his vox system ready? It had better be, once they hit the ground, Illu would have have to encourage his brothers with prayer and praise. He had checked it, but wouldn't it just be his luck if he was the only Chaplain left, and his vox cut out? He would never hear the last of it from Iranos. or Dunasis, for that matter. Still, it _should _work.

Illu felt a slight jolt reverberate through the pod as it hit the upper atmosphere. Now things would be getting interesting. Friction would be starting to build up -- and as the pod sailed through the sky, it juddered from side to side, a red hot glow started to spread over the painted metal.

Inside, Illu was preparing the squad for battle. He was going through a short prayer, even as the motion of the pods threatened to upset his concentration. He had seen pods like this one fail spectacularly. Dying in an explosive bloom of heat and fire. A quick look at Iranos told him that this pod would not be one of the few unlucky ones.

As his rank implied, Iranos was a Psyker. His unique powers took the form of premonitions -- fleeting glimpses of the future. Of course, they only showed him a few seconds in advance, and even then only happened when he was in battle it was however a useful skill to have. Illu had honestly lost count of the number of times Iranos had saved them from a well-hidden trap or ambush. This made him ideal for leading squads -- especially relatively new squads who didn't have the same experience to fall back on as most of the Chapter. He also, of course had the same genetic ability granted to all Psykers of the Chapter.

They were deeply into the atmosphere now, he could tell by the violent shaking of the pod, the heat inside was starting to increase as the pod failed to bleed it off. They would be landing soon, Illu knew. And then they would be able to truly live up to their nick-name.. ''The Angels of Death''. Space Marines were known by that name the universe over, their sheer power and speed making it seem, they were some divine being sent by the Emperor to punish the wicked rather than mortal -- if enhanced -- humans.

Then, with a resounding shock, the pod landed, the earth under it shifted as the full force of the crash struck it, Illu prayed that they hadn't hit the roof of some building -- it would be a real annoyance to have to dig themselves out and miss the fight. Luckily, it didn't seem they had, for after the first bone-jarring impact, they were still.

Iranos looked at each of them in turn, and Illu was struck by just how much his friend had changed in the long years they had known each other. " Ready?"

They nodded, unfastening the restrains that had held them in place during their fall. With a last look to be sure they were all ready, Iranos opened the pod. The doors opened simultaneously, the massive Librarian was out first, like a shot bringing his storm-bolter to bare on anything hostile. Illu and the squad followed, the Chaplain scanning the land around them.

It looked like they had been one of the first to land. The sky was filled with drop-pods, and he could see people scrambling wildly -- cultists rushing to raise the alarm. They had the edge now, but they would have to move fast if they wanted to keep it. They had landed in a clearing -- it looked like there had once been buildings here, but they had been torn down by the cult. Their wreckage still littered the ground. Some chunks were massive bigger than he. Iranos' voice cut rudely through his thoughts," DOWN!"

Knowing better than to ask questions, Illu did just that, enhanced muscles bunching and throwing him as far away from the pod as they could. It was just in time, there was a roar like thunder and the pod exploded in a storm of fire and shrapnel. It pelted the armour of the novices and the two marines. Luckily, no one had been killed by the sudden attack. Illu rolled as he struck the ground, bringing himself back to his feet and taking cover behind some rocks that looked like they might once have been the foundation for a building.

What had fired on them? He hadn't seen anything at all, and he still couldn't! The novices had been scattered, taking cover where they could. Iranos had ducked behind a lone wall -- probably the sole survivor of whatever building it had once been a part of.

Then, it moved. It was -- no, it _had been_ a Leman Russ tank. The kind used by the Imperial Guard but not the Astartes. Illu had seen them before on a thousand worlds, but not ones like this.

It was alive. There was no better way to say it. Pink, dripping flesh hung around the turret, spines grew out of the main gun. The whole thing had developed a chitinous exoskeleton Illu had seen this kind of thing before, when a Daemon was tempted into the Machine-Spirit. The result was a creature that was a sick fusion of all that the Adeptus Mechanicus fought for. A living weapon, gifted by the powers of Chaos. They didn't need pilots, the tank really was alive. An aura of sorcerous energy crackled around the tank -- clearly it had been hidden until it's prey was in sight. A single heavy-bolter was mounted on the steaming body of the tank and it roared to life now. Shots and explosions pinged off the barrier between Illu and the Daemon-tank. It wouldn't hold for long however, he could already feel the thick rocks taking the hit. Illu readied himself to run.

The novices and Iranos were returning fire, their weapons spraying against the hide of the living machine. It bellowed somehow, as it's outer armour was broken apart by the hail of bolter-shots. Thick, foul smelling blood oozed and sprayed as the wounds were ripped open, but under that chitin it still had it's original armour, and the shots did little more than enrage it.

What to do? They could try and take it with a krak-grenade, but they would have to get close and plant it on a vulnerable spot, with that heavy-bolter not to mention the main cannon, there was no way they'd do it. Speaking of the main cannon, hadn't it been silent for just a tiny but _too _long?

The world erupted in pain for Illu as the barrier of rockcrete shattered and was driven into his armour by the force of the explosion, he was tossed back, the massive forces moving him like little more than a doll. pain pounded within him as the tiny splinters entered his body, he could taste blood in the back of his throat and he thought that the fused plate of ribs that guarded his organs had been broken by the impact. He tumbled helplessly, coming to a halt quite a way from where he had been blasted. A normal human man would have died four times over -- ripped to shreds by the initial shock-wave, cut to ribbons as the shrapnel shredded his body, shot by the stray bolter shells sprayed by the tank, or just smashed into oblivion upon impact with the ground. A lesser Astartes would have been stunned, shaken or just plain knocked out. Unable to move before the tank sighted on him and with a new stream of blood-seeking bolts, ended his life. Illu was none of these, he rolled as soon as he hit the ground bringing himself to his knees. His plasma pistol spoke for the first time, sending roaring shots of energy to bounce harmlessly off the monster. He skittered to the side, narrowly avoiding a new attack from, the beast.

Cover, he had to find cover fast. Before the main gun was reloaded and it was able to throw him back with the shock-wave of impact and then catch him with the heavy-bolter. Shots from the others were still bouncing off the armour, here and there, one got lucky and penetrated, drawing more foul blood.

Illu saw one figure making a run for the tank -- Iranos! That fool was going to get himself killed. A shot landed next to him and Illu ducked away to avoid the deadly rain. Illu found another low piece of cover and fell gratefully behind it, catching his breath as he prepared to make another run for better protection.

Perhaps sensing someone behind it, the Daemon-Tank turned and it's main gun spate fire. Illu wanted to cry out for his friend to run, but the shot caught Iranos right in the chest, blowing him back with a grunt, trailing fire and scraps of armour. He struck the ground hard and rolled, leaving melted bits and pieces of armour in his wake.

Illu knew that Iranos had a chance of surviving that -- he was wearing Terminator armour, which was the best. ( Excepting Artificer armour, of course.) But that wouldn't help him now that he was down, the tank was free to spit a hail of death at him -- the bolts would explode and eventually, one would be fatal.

Suddenly, Illu realized that he head been hearing a very distinctive sound for the last few seconds, but been too busy to think clearly about it. The drop-pod lanced down from the sky, like the vengeful fist of the Emperor himself. The pod took massive damage trying to plough through the tank-Daemon, but the beast took even more so. It shrieked horribly as it was crushed, blood flying, it's stores of ammunition exploded with a _bang _and Illu staggered back, the pod was twisted and crippled now, it's doors unable to open. A second explosion resounded, this time from inside the pod itself.

Brothers, his brothers were trapped. He rushed to their aid but before he could make it very far, the door exploded outwards in a shower of twisted metal and fire. There was a mechanical _whirring _sound and his brother stepped out of the wreckage of the pod.

He was massive, towering above even Iranos. But then that was to be expected, for this was not a normal man, nor even truly an Adeptus Astartes, not anymore. This was a Dreadnought. Painted in the Chapter red, it's sarcophagus was gold and silver. It dropped from the bleeding husk of the burning tank and looked around, then it spoke. It's voice was a vox unit build into the outer hull of the massive armour.

" Chaplain. Some form of ambush, I take it?"

Illu nodded, " A corrupted Leman Russ tank. It was fortunate that you arrived when you did, or we would have been hard-pressed to bring it down."

The Dreadnought looked down, seeing the burning ruin at it's feet, " The Emperor works in strange ways. I did not imagine I would take my first kill of this battle by landing upon it."

The novices had left their cover now, most of them were keeping a watchful guard, trying to ensure that yet more tanks would not be able to ambush them. One of them was kneeling at Iranos' side, checking that he still breathed.

Illu walked to the fallen warrior, the novice looked up, " He's still with us, Chaplain. Barely, but still here."

Illu was never more aware of the near religious awe that the novices of the Chapter and the scouts held for him and the other Chaplains. He nodded gravely, " Pick up him, we should get him to an apothecary."

Two of the novices hurried to do so, each supporting one side of him as they hauled the Librarian to his feet.

Tuning into the command channel, Illu heard Brother Dunasis report , " We're down! All squads report in."

" Squad Iranos here." Reported Illu. It was technically true that the Librarian squad was not official as such, but this had been agreed upon beforehand in order to save confusion. " Iranos is down not dead, but he may need help. We've were ambushed by a corrupted Leman Russ tank. It was hidden with sorcery, be on your guard Brother-Captain."

The reply was swift even as the other squads started to report in, " Take him some place safe, we can't afford to carry him with us, leave the squad to guard him."

Illu replied and turned to the others, outlining the plan. " You novices will take Librarian Iranos here to safety and guard him, we will pick you up when we get back."

He turned to the Dreadnought, it was a massive engine of death and destruction, an impressive monster forged by man to battle Chaos and other evil. And yet. it was just as much his brother as Iranos or any other marine. More so, in fact, since this ancient warrior had been fighting for the future of mankind long before Illu himself was even a scout never mind a Chaplain.

" Ancient-Brother, you will come with me to meet up with the other squads in time for the main push."

And so, the Lost Warriors attacked the desert world, heedless of the trap they had just walked into, not knowing of the web of lies and trickery that had been spun, just so this very moment could take place.

____________

Well, what did everyone think? Again, I have tried to develop them all as characters rather than cardboard cut-outs. Did I succeed? If you liked please drop me a line, If not, tell me why.


	3. Just as Planned

The air was thick with the Warp as the marines descended into the great underground tunnels created by the miners and expanded by the cult. Dunasis had been very exact with his orders: Advance, expect the worst, do not falter, the Emperor protects. Most of the cultists had been caught unaware of their arrival and slaughtered up on the surface. Now, the _Astartes _would have to face the originators of this cult, the Chaos Space Marines.

Bolter fire erupted violently as the marines met their opposites. The foul Chaos Marines had known they were coming. Known it since they first landed via drop-pod. They had dug in well -- layers of defences stood between the marines and their goal. Heavy-bolter emplacements spat fiery death at anyone foolish enough to wander close, manes had been planted in the ground and now they detonated with a roar, ripping apart marines as they advanced. Summoned Daemons trailed blood and guts as they sliced into the Astartes with cries of fiendish delight. Yet it was not a one-sided fight. Well disciplined bolter-fire tore into the ranks of the traitors, explosions ripped them apart, their ancient armour no protection against the well-aimed shots. Rockets roared overhead, detonating against the weapons emplacements. Some died there, their guns melted or twisted beyond use. Others survived and returned fire, bringing down more of the brave Astartes. The screaming of jets could be heard mixed in with the sound of combat. Assault Marines dropped amongst the ranks of the Enemy, their blades ripping guts and drawing blood. The fighting was intense as only a battle between Astartes could ever truly be.

Through this carnage and death, there stomped a massive warrior of metal. A Dreadnought. A fallen Space Marine entombed in the metal sarcophagus and given control of the mechanical body. It's Vox units mounted on the outside of it's hull roared. Fire poured from one fist, the other crackled with a thunderous power.

" Onwards, brothers!" It screamed, " for the Emperor, for the Imperium!"

In response to it's rallying cry, more of the traitors turned their weapons upon it, but it walked through the storm of power like a man might walk through light rain.

In the midst of the intense battle, Veteran Sergeant Tye fought alone. He was technically a part of the command squad attached to Brother-Captain Dunasis, but he had been separated during the fire fight. Now, he was taking cover behind a vast statue of some Daemonic monster. Even being so close to it made his skin crawl, but his auto-senses could easily pick up the bolter-shots smashing into the front of it, so he stood his ground.

With practice ease, he reloaded his faithful bolter. His power-armour was cracked and damaged. Servos strained to keep it moving, he knew it couldn't take much more punishment than it had already been given.

Emperor take them all! _Traitors_. Even thinking the word brought rage to his normally calm system. Tye was usually a peaceful man -- never using more force than was absolutely required. Needless to say, this was a rare quality in one who was, quite frankly, created for no other reason than to bring death to enemies of the Imperium. Yet now, now he wanted to bound from cover, to rip them apart with fist and chainblade, to show them the true power of a loyal soldier of the Emperor. Damn them all! He wanted to avenge his squad, to make them scream and beg for death. He was a Space Marine, damn it, he should have been able to save them! He wanted to run screaming at the enemy, to cut them down with eye-watering speed. He did not. He was angry, not stupid. Doing as he wished -- while very enjoyable for the first few seconds -- would get him shot so many times that even his own enhanced body would be unable to cope. So he contented himself with ensuring his gun was ready. Then he had his chance. A slight lull in the immediate vicinity, for some reason several of the traitors had left -- or been killed. Ducking out of cover, he let loose.

His trained mark found one traitor -- his blood-soaked armour cracked and splintered,the spry of Bolter shells taking him squarely in the chest. Blood and guts showered the ground beneath him as he fell. Return fire stitched the area around Tye and he returned to his statue, but not before a single shot struck his arm. Bolters fire a self-propelled armour piercing explosive round -- to put it simply, they blow up _inside _their target. Normally, an Astartes' armour might provide some chance -- maybe deflect the round somehow or at least take the worst of the damage but this one was lucky. The resulting attack blew Tye's arm clean away, shards of bone and flesh rained down as he clutched at his new stump, pain swamped him, but he was an Astartes, he would not give into it. Already, his blood was clotting, he knew that given time, his body's natural process could repair most any damage. It could not, however, give him back his arm. It was a messy wound, he knew by the feel of it. Shrapnel was probably buried in the stump as well.

His weapon hand, they had taken his weapon hand! His bolter skidded across the floor, soaking in his own blood. It was a great dishonour for a Marine to lose his weapon and Tye felt the rage threatening to overtake him. With an angry growl, he knew that the traitors would be coming. Without a ranged weapon, he was as good as dead. Anger burned within him that these disgusting traitors would claim the life of yet another good marine. Still, there was nothing for it, with his sole hand, he raised his chainsword - -thumbed the activation switch and with a _roar _it leapt into action.

Just in time too, the first traitor was coming, he shot forwards -- the man was just raising his bolter. but it was too late. Tye cut him down with a slash to the throat, corrupted blood fountained as the body slumped to the floor. He saw that he had five more foes, four of them at long range while one had drawn his own chainsword and was approaching.

He was a cocky man, Tye noted with a strange sense of calmness. He knew he was going to die here, fighting the enemies of the Emperor. In a way, he had always known. Unbidden, words from his training so many years ago wafted back to him._ " We are not given to chose where and when we die -- only the Emperor can do that. No, what we must decide is how we meet that fate." _Wise words, thought Tye. Ones he had lived by, and now ones he was going to die by.

The approaching warrior activated his own blade, the others held fire and Tye realized that this man was going to fight him alone. This was both good and bad -- good because it gave him a chance to kill more of the traitor scum, bad because it meant that this one was important enough to order the others around -- and thus, probably more powerful than them.

Still, there was not much he could do now but meet his fate fighting. His auto-senses -- always sharp -- seemed almost painful in their strength. He could feel the vibrations as weapons fired, could hear the snarl of bolters. Smell the thick blood in the air. His own body, he could feel perfectly. He was bruised all over, blood was trickling down his throat, his fused rib-plate felt like it had been fractured. His severed arm throbbed horribly, sickening in it's intensity. He pushed it all aside, here he was and here he would remain.

The man came to a stop before him. He was a massive man -- probably tall even before falling to the ravages of Chaos. His face had once been handsome in a rugged way, now it was twisted and cruel. His mouth looked like it had been built to grin, yet now it was formed into a sadistic smirk. His teeth were lengthened and sharpened, hair hair was clotted with blood. His skin pale, his blue eyes almost terrifying in their power.

When he spoke, his voice was low, yet Tye could easily hear it over the sound of the raging battle. His power-armour was clearly ancient. It was decorated with kill marks -- Small marbles of silver metal. Each one to represent an important foe he had despatched.

Tye was no fool, he had seen this man before. With a sinking feeling, he slipped into a defensive stance. His chances of victory had been reduced almost to zero. Yet he did not despair, for no Space Marine had ever given way to despair and Tye would not be the first.

" Traitorous scum." Putting all his anger, hatred and strength into the words, " How did you escape from the _Drinker?_"

The man didn't seem alarmed by Tye's oath, he raised his eyebrow as if in question and spoke, " What need have we to fight here, brother? I escaped from the _Blood Drinker _easily enough, certainly your attack on it was unfortunate and did indeed kill many of my brothers but not I."

His words sent a tingle of anger through Tye's body. This Chaos-worshipper had betrayed all that they had ever stood for, given away every scrap of honour, of nobility of humanity that his void-like soul had ever contained. Yet he dared to call Tye brother?

" No brother of mine has ever betrayed the Emperor." Tye spat, " You are worse than a coward, you are a traitor and for that you will die!"

He lunged forwards, summoning all his remaining strength, his blade _whirred _as it bite for the man's gut, but the Champion of Chaos parried and turned the attack aside with a contemptuous flick of his sword. Tye was wide-open for a counter-strike but the man didn't take it, instead letting Tye back into a defensive position.

This man was toying with him. Tye knew this as a cold fact. Maybe at his prime, well-rested, with no wounds and fully functional power-armour , Tye would be able to take him and win -- barely -- but right here and now, he stood next to no chance.

" Do you know." Said the man conversationally, " Why I fell to Chaos?"

Tye frowned despite himself, this was not how the fight was meant to go down, it was supposed to be a lighting quick duel, ending when one of them had been cut down. Yet the Champion was talking, as if this whole thing was little more than a diversion!

" You didn't fall." Tye snarled angrily, fighting against the pain in his arm, he was weakening. It was inevitable really, after taking so many wounds. Where was everyone? Tye knew that he had blotted out the world around them, focusing on this one fight to the exception of all else. It was not a good tactic to try in the midst of a heated battle, but it wasn't like Tye had anything to lose. " You didn't fall." He continued, " You called out to it, embraced it gladly! You are a worse than any heretic. That a Marine could fall so far, much less -"

" One of your own Chapter?" Replied the man in his cold voice, malice twinkled in his eye as he spoke. " That wounds you, doesn't it? That one of your own could fall as I did. Thus, you convince yourself that it wasn't the fault of the Chapters -- clearly I was simply weak enough to embrace Chaos. It wasn't your fault, it was mine. That's what you have convinced yourself. isn't it?"

The man launched a series of lightening strikes, his blade like the forked tongue of a snake, testing, probing. Tye defended as best he could, he was tired and hurt, several of the attacks made it through, Touching his armour lightly before being pulled away before the churning blade could do any real damage.

Tye backed away, giving ground under the assault even as he desperately looked for a weakness in the other's web of steel.

" But the truth is oh so different." Continued the Chaos Marine. " I was cast out, betrayed and abused by the Chapter. Is it any surprise that I fell to the Ruinous Powers? Yes, brother _fell. _ I had no desire to join with the Gods. That happened due to circumstances far beyond my control. Yes, unlike most of my brothers, I am not so proud of it. I fell, Tye. Fell hard and fell fast. Yet that does not mean I do not like where I found myself!"

Tye cried out as a lightening-fast stab contacted with his chest, the motion threw him back and with a yank, the Chaos Marine had again withdrawn the blade before it could eat through his armour. This time, however, he had left a long jagged scar to show where the blade had impacted.

Tye staggered back, blocking another such attack. he was getting dizzy, an Astartes should not be getting dizzy. It had to be all the Warp energy in the air, he couldn't focus, his vision was getting fuzzy. The Chaos Marine -- Yurus -- smiled again, looking down at Tye even as the Sergeant found that he was having trouble breathing.

" Yes, brother-Mulker's plague-Bolter is quite useful, no? It was given to him by a Daemon Prince, I believe. Something about rendering a great service. Don't worry, it's not strong enough to kill a Space Marine. A healthy immune system should be able to subdue the effects in about, _oh_ three hours."

He brought his blade up, holding it with a strange grace. Blood dripped from it, Tye noted with that extraordinary clarity. Probably from his earlier kills. The grin had never left Yurus' face. Tye scrambled to bring his sword up, but his own arm felt heavy, weighed down by his armour and tiredness. Impossible of course, he wasn't tired and his Power-Armour largely moved itself yet that was how he felt. " Until that time, you will be very weak indeed. "

His blade sliced down like a monstrous claw. Going straight for Tye's neck. In that split second, Tye saw that the Champion was no longer playing or messing. This was a real fight now, a fight it looked like he was about to lose. He was going to die here, his blood staining the floor, his soul, would it escape? He wondered, would it fly free to join the Emperor or would it be consumed by some Daemon. It seemed inevitable that he would fall, as the blade slowly descended, he screamed for his body to move, to come back to life but it was as if time were slowed and all he could do was watch. It seemed his entire life had come down to this one moment.

_Well, _thought Tye as the blade came ever closer to his _neck, I knew I wouldn't be getting out of this one the moment my arm was taken. But Emperor take them all, if I wont fight until the last! _He felt a fresh determination grip him, he would die here. Of that he was certain, but just maybe, he could die fighting, die with honour and pride and dignity.

He wasn't even aware of it, but his mouth was moving speaking, he willed himself to move, to make one last movement, to strike upwards now when he enemy least expected it, to at least achieve a mutual kill.

" For the Emperor!" He roared without meaning to, Yurus blinked, surprised that his prey had the energy to even speak. Then, Tye moved. Jerkily, slowly, he moved, his blade angling for Yurus' chest. The Chaos Marine would have been dumbstruck, but there was no time for such trivialities.

Pain as the chainblade bit into his flesh, his body screamed in agony. Near him, the other Chaos Marines looked on in horror and surprise -- this couldn't happen! This wasn't part of the plan! Blood and flesh and gore sprayed Tye as he forced the blade inwards. Determined to make Yurus pay for what he had done. There was a slight change in the sound of the blade as it struck the fused bone of Yurus' rib cage, quick as a flash, Yurus roared in agony and fury, bringing his own sword down with a savage strength he had rarely felt the need to use. There was a Daemonic screech as the two chainblades met and warred, then there was a second screech and a crash as the two weapons tore each other apart. Splinters of metal and chains struck both the combatants, Yurus got the worst of it, his wound was gouged with metal and a burning agony overtook him, beating even a Space Marine's fierce pain-tolerance, he collapsed to one knee. gasping as blood washed from his wound.

Tye was hurt as well. The shrapnel raining down on him and piercing his hand in several places. Disgusted, he tossed the worthless blade aside. _ Now I am completely unarmed. _ His only consolation was that Yurus seemed to be as well, though doubtless as a follower of the Change God, Yurus would have several tricks up his sleeve. Yurus was still kneeling down, blood coating the floor beneath him and dripping from his mouth. He had a stunned expression, as if he had not even contemplated the chances of being wounded in this fight. _Must have hit something vital. _Tye noted as Yurus should by rights have recovered by now. Maybe he could still make his kill. The thought was an unlikely one, Tye had to admit. After his brief burst of energy he could feel his body getting heavier and heavier, the toxin taking effect again and this time he knew there would be no respite. Suddenly, the four marines who had been holding their ground advanced.

They were giants. Each wore a cloak of human skin and held an old-pattern bolter and a chainblade like the one Yurus had held. They moved like shadows, strange and hard to focus on, gun-fire struck at them. It seemed to pass through them, though this was probably due to their unusual style of movement. Tye spotted Yurus' bolter laying on the ground beside him, it was spattered with decades of gore, and had changed to show a roaring Daemon head. It was doubtless beyond redeemable, the Machine-Spirit ether corrupted or vanished or worse. Yet, it was the only chance Tye had to take a few more marines with him. He lunged for it, his fingers heavy and inflexible as they closed around the handle, bringing it to bear on the marines. They weren't where he had last seen them. Tye cursed. He didn't have much time, it was getting harder and harder to breath, he had to work more and more just to get his body to follow his commands. Then, the marines were _in front _of him. There was no in-between, Tye suspected some form of teleportation, never even thinking that maybe the poison was affecting his senses. Then, the fist smashed into his face, knocking him to the ground with a grunt and a flare of pain. He dropped the bolter with a curse, gasping for breath and trying, desperately, to rise. He cursed and screamed to move, but he couldn't. The toxin that had for so long been held off by his own determination had finally closed it's taloned hands around his body, and would not give in without a fight.

As if from a great distance, he saw two of the four Chaos marines help Yurus to his feet. The gigantic wound in his gut had clearly torn through his rib-plate and done some damage to his internal organs. Tye felt a little better knowing that he most likely wouldn't live out the night. The other two took their bolters -- again with a roaring Daemonic face -- and aimed. Tye noted that one had taken aim at his head while the other did the same for his chest. They were taking no chances. he wished that he could make his frozen lips work just once more, to utter a prayer to the Emperor. To curse the traitors with his last laboured breath but he could not. In the end, he would die on his back, unable to move, to fight, to even speak.

In slow motion, he saw his attackers tighten their fingers in preparation to kill him. Yet he felt a strange kind of satisfaction fill him. He had done his duty as Astartes, done it to the end. Had not given in to fear or despair. Had fought on, even with the loss of his hand and his mobility. Had claimed the life of one of their leaders. Yes, he had done his duty even when death was looking him right in the face. He knew that the Emperor would be proud of him, and _that _ was a feeling forever denied to these traitors. In his last moments, he pitied them as much as hated them. They had denied themselves the light, given their bodies and souls over to the monstrous Dark Gods. They had separated themselves from the Imperium, and their souls would be consumed by those they served. Yes, in the end, his fight had been so much more worthy than theirs.

Abruptly, there was a flash of blue silk, Tye blinked and a bolter-round slammed into the head of one of the attackers. His cranium exploded, showering the other with gore and shattered bone. The body fell boneless to the ground. The second one, he just had time to pull the trigger before a chainblade carved into his face with a scream. Tye felt a new wave of agony take him, the last shot of the dying Chaos Marine had missed it's target, but still hit something. Blood splashed from his chest and his difficulty breathing was tripled. He would have screamed, but could not. All he saw was red, and he he felt very tired. Resigned to death, he closed his eyes with one last sigh.

All was dark. How much time had past? He didn't know, but he was no longer in pain. He could no longer feel anything at all. He seemed to be floating free yet he could still hear -- albeit as if from very far away -- the sounds of battle. The roar of bolters discharging, the screams of the wounded and dying. Then a voice, filtered and unidentifiable.

" He's lost a lot of blood, Brother-Captain. Looks like that toxin was preventing his blood from clotting. His wounds are very bad." The sounds started to dim as Tye drifted off again, but he could still catch words here and there, "Lost his hand..... ribs fractured....amazing he's still alive..."

A second voice spoke, this one had an air of command. It was used to being obeyed and it was expecting an immediate answer.

" Can you bring him around?"

"I....possible..... not good.....a few hours...."

" .....around him...... anything through." Said the second voice, Tye's hearing was becoming worse now, as if he were drifting away. This thought didn't worry him as he couldn't bring himself to feel very much of anything at the minute.

" Wake him." Said the voice commandingly. At once, Tye felt a soft pain. He hardly noticed it at all, save that pain really hadn't been bothering him until that very moment. The pain started to grow, going from a single tiny spot to a burning heat covering his body. He could taste blood in his mouth and his chest burned worst of all. His hand throbbed and his fingers bled. He felt heavy as well as off-balance. He had his eyes closed, and with a real effort, he opened them. Light assaulted him, unbearable, blinding light. He forced himself to endure it, slowly, the world came into focus and he could see again. What he saw would probably have given many men nightmares. To Tye, it was a welcome sight indeed.

" Apothecary." He breathed, even that small movement caused him new agony. Apothecary Hellus saw this and spoke, " Don't move too much, brother, I've injected you with painkillers. They should kick in soon."

Hellus was the Apothecary of the Command Squad attached to Brother-Captain Dunasis. He was a solid member of the Chapter and had served for many years. He had Tye's total trust. But if he were here... than the others had to be here as well. He wanted to crane his neck and try to rise, but was all too aware of the intense pain he would be forced to endure if he did that.

Soon ,the pain in his body dimmed to a dull ache. He knew he would pay dearly for it later, but for now he felt as if he could move again. Slowly, he started to rise. The Apothecary standing back to give him room. He struggled to his feet and looked around. The battle still raged, brothers and traitors trading fire and sword blows. Blood ran thick on the ground, soaking it like a river in some places. The thunder of heavy weapons announced that several Dreadnoughts had arrived to support their comrades and were methodically ripping the traitor positions to shreds.

" How are you brother?" Asked Brother-Captain Dunasis. Tye turned to him and had his suspicions confirmed. It had indeed been the captain who saved his life. His handsome face was scarred from years of battle. A new one had been added to his collection this day, a long, thin cut. All the way to the bone, leaked blood. The Captain ether didn't notice or simply didn't care.

" I walk." Said Tye, who was having some trouble speaking due to the mix of drugs that had been injected into his system to combat the poison and the pain. . " I live, I breath. That is all I need to do."

Dunasis studied his helmet for a second, as if he could peer through it and at the face behind, and nodded. " Good. We have taken the lead in this battle but the traitors must not be allowed to organise. We will be breaking apart positions and harrying them as they retreat."

And that was how they spent the reminder of the battle. The traitors were well dug-in, and were loath indeed to be forced back. The bodies were piled thick and high by the time they saw the only possible outcome of this fight. The Command Squad, supported by several Assault Squads, broke up any attempt at organised resistance as the Ancient-Brothers poured fire into the heart of the enemy. Several of the disguised mutated tank-beasts appeared to reinforce the traitors but these were dealt with swiftly and had no time to tip the scales.

When the end of the battle came, it came without warning. Suddenly, the quality of the incoming fire changed. No longer seeking to kill, the traitors now wanted only to cover their retreat. Needless to say, this was what the loyalists had been waiting for and their own attacks doubled. Still blood flowed and splashed. A besieged squad of marines held out against all odds until reinforcements arrived. An Assault Squad was ambushed and slaughtered by the traitors. Daemons laughed insanely as they were brought down, bleeding rivers of gore and blood as chainblades and bolters cut into their flesh. A Dreadnought give a final scream, it's generator overloading due to arcane trickery and dying in a single fiery moment. Amongst all the millions of tiny battles that the fight had degenerated into. The one overriding goal of the traitors was retreat, regroup, recover.

Eventually, they managed to flee into the corridors carved into the stone. They ran for miles and were a very easy place to get lost in. The loyalists gave chase, ferreting out the traitors as they ran, bringing down their fleeing forms in a bloody slaughter. When all was over and the battle done, Tye looked around him. His wounds were growing in pain now, the drugs wearing off. The Apothecary had warned him that he would need to be transported back up to the ship for treatment. part of him was against leaving a battle half-finished -- for the mission was not over. the traitors had been scattered but not destroyed. Unless every last one was hunted down and killed, they would do their best to see the end of his Chapter. He looked around, the fight may have been won, but at what cost? The floor ran with the crimson blood of the faithful. The Power-Armoured bodies of his brothers littered the earth. He felt a great sadness welling up within him. Many of these men had been known to Tye, sinking to one knee, he took in the battlefield. The great pyres being built for the traitors, so that their bodies did not corrupt the forms of the fallen. Serfs were moving amongst the dead now, reverently hauling the bodies of Chapter Marines away to be frozen and loaded onto the _Blade _and from there, taken home for burial.

He felt an intense stab of pain. A warning, he mused, that the painkillers would not hold much longer. Time to go. He looked down at himself. Blood and gore dripped from every facet of his armour. A crude bandage had been tied around his wounded arm, as well as over his chest. They were stained with crimson.

The Apothecary had said that Tye was very badly wounded, and his own fights had surely also taken their toll on him. He had no idea how long he would be under the care of the Apothecary for. This whole mission could be over by the time he got back. He hoped not, Lord Yurus had escaped along with two of his guards. After such a battle, Tye felt that Yurus belonged to him and him alone. He prayed to the Immortal Emperor that he would have the chance to spill the blood of the man who had slaughtered his squad. Prayed for it with all his might.

_______________________________________________________________

Lord Yurus, Favoured of the Change God. Champion of Chaos, sat alone in his throne. He had commandeered this small room for his own purposes as soon as they arrived. Here, was his retreat from reality. Where he could relax for a time and worship in his own way. The throne was made of bone, taken from the bodies of those who had resisted him -- Imperial servant, Chaos cultists, it didn't matter. Space Marines and Chaos Marines too. Yurus had fought a long war to gain control of his warband and now it looked like it was being threatened.

Mentally, he went through the casualties again. Nearly half of their total strength wiped out, almost all of the cultists dead. He had anticipated the coming of the Chapter but he could not have been expected to know they would send a full strength Company including Dreadnoughts and, he could only suppose, other armoured vehicles. Or at least, that was the general idea. He would have to be careful now, very careful. He was assailed from within and without. There were many within the Warband who would gladly take his position at the first hint of weakness. Weakness such as the loss of the battle. He had no doubt he would be challenged, more than once, to keep his place. A faint echo of pain still reverberated in his body. That wound had been deep, and for most, fatal. Lord Yurus was not most, he was a Champion of Chaos and along with the title, he had been given regenerative powers far beyond that of any mortal.

He would live to fight another day, and he would have to. The challenges would come thick and fast until he could beat some measure of discipline back into his men. He shook his head, they were strong alone, but they were taken from many different Chapters and served different Gods, he could not expect them to work together for long. He would have to move fast.

What none of them knew --- not a single one of them. Was that Yurus had _not _been surprised by the size of the marines' force. Had _not _lost the battle via bad-luck but rather, from intention.

Yurus grinned despite himself. He was on a planet overrun by Space Marines, half his warband were dead and the other half would soon be calling for his blood. He was trapped with no way out but death and even that was not assured. The Chaos Gods could be very cruel to those that failed them. Yet, even through all of this, he could not help the three words that he spoke over and over in his head.

_Just as planned. _


End file.
